nobody puts baby in a corner
by loverloverlover
Summary: a short story about luna hale and paul donnelly from krista & becca ritchie's na romance series, 'like us' - - - this is the 'dirty-dancing' scene in scotland from 'sinful like us'; told from luna's pov. [title from 'dirty dancing' (1987)] [m for language and some themes]


"_Unholy…_

_Fuck._

_In the darkened corner of the pub, Luna Hale is dirty-dancing with Donnelly. The kind of sloppy dancing you'd see at closing times from trashed guys and girls._

_But her and him—they're completely sober._

_He cups her ass with two hands, holding her like I'm holding Jane, only she bounces on his lap to the beat of the music, and he sings the blaring song with Luna."_

* * *

The Scotland air was crisp, clean, and fucking freezing. Luna Hale had loved it the moment she'd stepped off the private plane—everything somehow immediately becoming easier and softer. She'd been in Scotland for a few says now, scouting wedding locations for her big brother, and this feeling of surety—of home—had yet to leave her. At first, she'd thought this feeling was brought on because she was still surrounded by family and friends, as that was her usual everyday life. However, it didn't take long for her to realize it was the lack of paparazzi—of notoriety—that allowed her to breathe easier.

Maybe this was why she wasn't completely dismissing the idea of walking up to Donnelly, pulling him aside, and kissing the utter _shit_ out of him. None of these Scotland residents knew who they were, nor did that care that Donnelly was a bodyguard and Luna was a 'famous one.' Not to mention, everyone else was wrapped up in themselves and the moment—even Akara had a beer in his hand—so really, if this wasn't the time when would it come?

The music was blaring, and she'd been sitting with Sulli, Akara, and the Oliveiras for the better part of an hour chatting about everything and nothing. For the entirety of that same hour, she and Donnelly had been stealing glances at each other from across the semi-empty bar. She was sober as a dog, and she'd been watching closely enough to know that was only Donnelly's second beer.

He looked even more attractive than usual tonight—which she didn't previously believe possible—but the glow of his tattoos in the low-lighting, combined with his permanently disheveled hair and confident attitude, was like an aphrodisiac. He was like sex on a stick, and Luna no longer cared about the small white lie she'd told her cousin, Jane. At the time, when Jane had accidentally barged in on her and Donnelly—catching them red-handed—it really _was _supposed to be one-time-time. But then it was _good_—better than good, it was fucking fantastic—and she didn't see any reason not to continue hooking up. Donnelly certainly didn't have any complaints, and as far as Luna was concerned, it was their business and their business only.

The topic at the table had turned to dancing and Luna was quick to voice her excitement at the idea. She made eye contact with Donnelly again before jumping to her feet—antsy to get some of this pent-up energy out of her system. She pulled Joana to the make-shift dancefloor, and her new friend was already singing at the top of her lungs—her grip on Luna's hands strong and sure. Sulli joined next, somehow coaxing her bodyguard into following her. Akara grabbed one of Sulli's hands and twirled her around. Luna smiled at the happiness on her cousin's face. More and more of their group began to join them, but Donnelly was slow to his feet.

Luna was watching him move—just walk, really—and she wondered if she had drunk something and somehow blocked it from her memory. She _felt_ drunk when she watched him, and though it wasn't altogether a bad feeling, she forced her attention onto the others dancing with her, lest she lose her footing.

It wasn't five minutes later, though, that Donnelly appeared on the dance-floor.

One second she was jumping around with Sulli, Joana, and an odd assortment of SFO, and the next second Donnelly was all she could see or feel or smell. He invaded all of her senses as he pressed up against her back, and she instinctively leaned back into him, tilting her head up to run her nose down the length of his neck. His hands—with those slim tattooed fingers that she was obsessed with—were holding securely to her waist. Slowly and inconspicuously, he maneuvered them to a darker corner of the dance-floor.

Once there, she turned to face him and his hands trailed sensuously up and down her sides and back. Goosebumps broke out across her flesh despite the heat of the bar. She wrapped her arms comfortably around his neck and pulled herself closer to him. His hands finally settled on her ass, and, somehow, he pulled her even _closer_.

She looked up into his face and couldn't help but smile at the brightness in his eyes. It had been a few weeks since he'd looked this light and carefree. She knew there was some sticky business with his father and an up-coming parole hearing, and even more unpleasantness with his mother that he flat out refused to talk about. So, watching him now, scream-singing the lyrics to a trashy pop song that she never expected him to know, she had never wanted to kiss him so badly.

Before she could lean onto her toes and do just that, he swiftly lifted her up—her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and his hands holding securely to her ass. He was still dancing along to the song, but she was almost too breathless with his sudden action to do more than snuggle closer to him. She ran a hand through his short hair and swiped her nose against his once. She then let her instincts take over and, trusting that he would never drop her, she began dancing—all her worries in the back of her mind.

She began yelling the lyrics right back at him.

She realizes then that they must look ridiculous—like sloppy drunks in a romcom movie—but she was having the time of her life. Soon enough she's laughing, and a split second of insecurity washes through her when she realizes this is a strange time to have a laughing fit. But he just smiles at her—a true smile that shows his dimples and quirks his eyebrows—and his hands tighten their grip on her ass.

As she continues to look at him, she realizes something that should have already been clear. All her life she's been branded as the 'weirdo.' She was called that word so much that she decided to embrace it—green markers, and stickers, and aliens, and all. And it wasn't as if she didn't enjoy those things, she did—immensely—but her embracement of them began as a way for her to fit into the label that others had given her. Now though, as Donnelly used one finger to flatten the star sticker on her cheekbone, she realized that he wasn't looking at her in only _one_ way—he wasn't labeling her.

She wasn't weird. She wasn't the girl who colored on herself or believes she's from an alien planet. Nor was she the girl who doused herself in glitter on a whim.

She was just Luna.

When she leaned in for a kiss, tilting Donnelly's chin up with her pointer finger and tightening her grip on his hair, she kept with her lifelong philosophy of not giving a fuck who saw her.

.:..:.

* * *

this probably has some grammatical errors, but she's as ready as she'll ever be to be out in the world. if you're reading this without having read Krista & Becca Ritchie's na romance "Like Us" then you should definitely check them out—they're fantastic reads! (really all of there stuff is.)

also, for the purpose of this fic, will rochester doesn't exist bc who needs him? no one. and definitely not sulli smh.

you can find both me and my stories over on ao3 under the same username :))

thank you so much for reading! reviews and favorites will make happy brain chemicals


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